Shutter Happy Sister

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Tonight I was rifling through old pictures. Yes. Can we all say SCARY! on the count of three?




My darling sister is obsessed with taking pictures. Before the glories of digital camera's were introduced to our family, the child would literally go through rolls of film a week. Guess who was her willing model?

Vain little me.

Ah. This has come back to bite me in the proverbial butt as I see the boxes and boxes of pictures we have of me posing. In the trees. In the dirt. On the tractor. Flying like an angel. Making demon faces. Eating. Sleeping. Staring.

Somewhere along the line, I understood prehaps it wasn't so fabulous to constantly have your pictures taken. So the visual trail thins a bit, but is still there. As I was flicking through these pictures, I was cringing. Not necessarily over the annoying fake smiles, or the bad outfits, or the doubles chins, but mostly the bad hair. WHAT IN THE NAME OF PORK WERE MY SISTERS THINKING?

Ok. So they were trying to give me a little artistic license. But that should have been revoked, just like the Nudist Colony's artistic license was revoked. Both equally hidious.

Whenever I had long hair IT WAS THE SAME FREAKING STYLE. Over the past, say, six years. And then I would go extreme and chop it off in a awful bob. AND THE COLOR! I had odd red, streaky blonde and horrible brunette. And of course we cannot forget the ghastly pink.

Some of the outfits were bad, but the hair distracted from them, by far. I did, also stumble across a few pictures that were of MONUMENTAL embarassment to me for years. Now, I can actually laugh. Sort of. But I still wonder what actually possesed me to ALLOW them to take a picture of me, from the ground, in Daisy Duke shorts with platform shoes.

I can learn from the follies of youth. Or wish that my legs were still that thin.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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